


Spite the Face

by EvilMuffins



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Genre: Amputation, Eventual Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts, Gore, M/M, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:23:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8667592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilMuffins/pseuds/EvilMuffins
Summary: Munakata spares Sakakura, however there are still some things that are unavoidable.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for DR kink meme! For the prompt 'Munakata/Sakakura- Amputation'  
> Be forewarned that this fic is mostly just a vehicle for the gore scene. haha....  
> Don't try this at home.

“…Last words?” Munakata echoed into the dimly lit hall.

“Do whatever you think that you need to. I just ask that you let me say one thing to you first.”

The katana continued to hover in the air before him.

“Please,” Sakakura continued, “…Kyousuke.”

No one else would have noticed, save for perhaps Chisa, no longer with them, but Sakakura thought that he could see the sword waver, merely a by fraction of an inch, a slight twitch of the hand. “Speak.”

“I,” Sakakura began, his face contorting as if he had already been stabbed through the chest, “care about you. I know that you only see me as a friend, and that’s fine. I can’t ask you for more than that. I just wanted you to hear that before there’s no way for me to say it anymore. Look, I’m sorry to leave you burdened with something like this. I know it can’t be-“

The sound of steel clattering onto tile interrupted him.

Munakata’s eyes grew wide for just a moment, before quickly narrowing once again. He spoke through gritted teeth. “It’s the despair talking- You’ll say anything.”

He began to reach for his blade, however making the mistake of catching Sakakura’s eyes with own along the way, the intensity locking him in, paralysing him. The sword remained still.

“I love you.”

The scowl on the other man’s face upon hearing those words crashed into Sakakura’s heart as if the sword had indeed struck him.

“If you’re telling the truth, then why would you keep Enoshima Junko’s true motives from me?”

“I allowed her to use my feelings against me. I…don’t expect you to forgive me.” Sakakura fought the urge to look down to his feet, instead holding the other man’s gaze, as if staring down an opponent in the ring. “That’s why you can do whatever it is that you think that you might need to right now. Just let me say this: If you do allow me to live, I will do everything it takes to put an end to this killing game. Sacrificing my life to save you in the next few hours would at least be a better use of my death than having it end right now, like this. Either way, I’m leaving it up to you.”

He took in a deep breath which he failed to let free. Sakakura felt that if he had confessed like this just days, or even hours ago, he would have gladly stabbed himself in Munakata’s place afterward.

Boxing wasn’t scripted as most wrestling was, or at least not the matches he had been in. Still, there was little fear of death in the ring. They played at fighting- himself and the man standing before the opposing ropes- however there was little more at stake than a trophy, a belt with so little use that wasn’t even meant to be worn.

The man that he loved was more than a simple prize, of that he had reminded himself as he had stepped back, making way for Yukizome. Munakata would be happier with her, he had convinced himself of that. He hadn’t wanted anyone to know- planning with certainty to take his secret to the grave- least of all the man in question himself. It wouldn’t have been fair to him.

Life wasn’t fair.

Sakakura steeled himself as the sword rose once more. However, instead of sinking into flesh, the blade came to rest inside the sheath resting in Munakata’s sleeve instead.

“Tell me your plan.”

* * *

 

Sakakura rolled up his sleeves, as if he were about to do dishes, before thinking better of it and removing his jacket, placing it over the back of one of the chairs.

“Are you completely sure about this?” Munakata asked, his remaining eye filled with enough concern for two. “Perhaps it’s not too late to work out another plan.”

Sakakura snorted. “Half an hour ago, you were about to stick that thing through my heart. What’s the difference? Just think of this as punishment for my keeping it from you.”

Munakata continued wiping at the blade with a piece of cloth he had dosed in rubbing alcohol. The two had managed to get back to where Kimura’s corpse had been strung up, taking the remaining medical supplies from her pockets.

“Keeping what from me, your affiliation with Enoshima, or your feelings?”

“Both.” A pause arose as Sakakura watched as Munakata sanitise the blade, the rhythmic motion hypnotic. “Just let me do it myself. You shouldn’t have to.”

“In that case, you can think of this as my punishment…for not recognising your feelings sooner, for not trusting in you as I should have.”

A silent agreement passed between them then as their eyes met. The angry red of the minutes counting down on their wrists speaking for them, warning them both that it was now or never.

“You’ll need something to bite down on, then,” Munakata stated, reaching beneath his half untucked shirt to unbuckle his belt.

A little voice in the back of Sakakura’s informed him that he probably shouldn’t be staring just below Munakata’s waist the entire time, however it was the probability of impending death that often put a gag on that sort of voice.

Once finished, however, Munakata cast a meaningful glance toward the other man’s waist as well. “We’ll also need something to use as a tourniquet.”

Sakakura removed the belt, passing it to Munakata, who wrapped it around his arm tightly as possible.

“This is going to be uncomfortable,” he warned needlessly, as if discomfort had any meaning in the face of what was about to come.

Rather than hand him the second belt, Munakata brought up it to his face, Sakakura giving a nod as he opened his mouth, accepting the leather strip between his teeth.

Without any further hesitation, Sakakura seated himself before the conference table, laying his bare arm flat as possible despite the slight quaver it continued to insist upon doing.

“Close your eyes.” The command was surprisingly gentle, ringing out soothing in the silent room, as if Munakata were preparing to tell a bedtime story.

He would never have closed his eyes in the ring, and certainly not when facing any of the Remnants of Despair. He had prided himself on facing things head on.

Sakakura closed his eyes.

The blade flew downward, slicing through the flesh, the blood vessels, and muscle with a slightly damp sound like a kitchen clever slicing apart a cabbage. However the sword stopped short at the bone with a horrible grinding sensation reverberating up the hilt.

They had both hoped that it would go quickly, like pulling off a band-aid. They had both known that it wouldn’t.

He must have unconciously not used enoughed force, an excess of care for his friend only causing more pain.

Sakakura stamped his feet, throwing his head back as he nearly bit clear through the belt.

They should have broken the bone first.

The surface of the conference table was quickly running red as Munakata quashed down a bubbling panic, his stomach churning in impossible displays of acrobatics.

“I’m sorry.”

Munakata gently repositioned the arm, an almost laughable gesture considering that his next move was to snap the wrist bones into two, before finishing the job.

He was glad that Sakakura had obeyed about closing his eyes, because Munakata was certain that he would continue to relive this moment enough for the both of them, the grotesque image of his best friend’s hand lying apart from the arm it had spent 20-some years firmly attached to, blood pooling out of the ragged red insides of both, obscuring the white of the splintered bone. The toxic bracelet lie on tanned flesh just before the unmoving hand terminated into gore after the joint.

Sakakura slumped back in the chair, arm nearly sliding off the surface of the desk, before Munakata caught it up in a clean wad of gauze pads he had also found in Kimura’s kit, bandaging it as best he could, though it soaked through straight away.

“Don’t,” Munakata warned upon seeing Sakakura’s eyelids begin to flutter. He wrapped the hand in a cloth, obscuring it from view.

Sakakura’s breathing was ragged, sweat seeping across his brow, mixing with the tears that welled from his eyes.

“Alright.”

Sakakura opened his eyes in just enough time to see Munakata bend to embrace him.

Despite being life-long best friends, the two had had little physical contact beyond a friendly back-slap or two before, but now the tender gesture came at such a dissonant time that it only compounded unreality of everything that had just occurred. It was clear that, however muddled his mind from the pain, it was only thing the other man could do think to do; it was just as much for his own comfort as it was for Sakakura’s.

They had drawn lots to see who to see who would have to forfeit their limb in order to be rid of the bracelet. It seemed the only fair way after both men had insisted upon it being themselves. However, now that it had been done, Munakata couldn’t help but replay their agreement, searching for some way he could have taken Sakakura’s place. His own NG code didn’t even allow for him to open doors. His own hands were next to useless. Not only that, but Sakakura relied on his hands for his talent turned profession. If he lived, if the world righted itself enough, what could he possibly do then?

“Let’s get out of here,” Sakakura mumbled from the chair.

“You should get some more rest. We still have time before the next sleep cycle.”

Sakakura shook his head, still panting through gritted teeth. “We still need…to find one of the…others…”

He moved to stand, however forgetting he no longer had the use of his left hand to use as leverage he dropped back onto the seat with a shout.

Munakata shook his head, brows furrowed in concern, as he gently placed his arm under the other’s still intact one, guiding him up and toward the door.

Munakata reached for the knob, before dropping his hand again in time. He wasn’t even able to do something as simple as opening a door for the man who had just sacrificed so much for him. Sakakura merely nodded as reassuringly as he could in his state, cracking open the door with his remaining hand.

Once through the door, Sakakura would to be able to stay awake past the dreaded time, and observe whatever it was that happened as the others slept, putting a stop to the killer and the game once and for all.

Both he and Munakata would leave the building alive, of this he would make certain.

 

_End part 1_

 

 


	2. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tone of this of this probably doesn't fit with the previous chapter, however this little scene just wouldn't leave me alone.

Munakata patted the bedside table in a futile attempt at shutting off the alarm, before realising that it was a Sunday, and it had in fact been the late morning sun that had awoken him, rather than a buzzer.

He cracked his open to just make out the photo of a young Yukizome, Sakakura, and himself smiling back at him from its place beside the clock that displayed a time significantly later than that of when he and his boyfriend usually rolled out of bed for their work at the newest iteration of the Future Foundation. Squinting, he just barely made out the time, bleary as he was. The type of clock they had chosen didn’t help matters- an analogue clock, with two black hands against a simple white face, the digital kind reminding them far too much of other things that would count down bright red numbers in the dark.

Gently, so as not to rock the bed, he turned over the other way so as to check on Sakakura, brushing the stray lock of wavy hair away from his face. Even now, he still felt some times as if the other man may disappear like a spirit in the middle of the night, having been truly lost during the killing game and manifesting as nothing more than a dream.

“Nn…Morning…” Sakakura mumbled, still very much real indeed, arms snaking out of the covers to converge in a stretch above his head.

A third arm soon met them, Munakata running his hand over Sakakura’s left wrist.

“I’m fine,” Sakakura sighed, wishing for the thousandth time there were some way to ease Munakata’s guilt, though knowing it would likely linger for a long time, no matter what reassurances he was offered.

“No pain this morning?” Munakata’s expression remained stern with concern, as he took Sakakura’s wrist between his hands, rubbing little circles with his thumb just before where the hand should have been. The phantom pain had been difficult for quite a time after the killing game- both from Sakakura’s hand and Munakata’s eye- however they had pulled through it together.

“Really, I’m alright- just like yesterday, and the day before,” Sakakura insisted, with a roll of his eyes.

Munakata knew better than to ask him if he’d prefer a robotic hand be installed, as had been done for the Komaeda kid. A hand that couldn’t properly be used for boxing would have only added insult to injury. Beyond that, the boy who had engineered the technique was far away now. They hadn’t heard from the Remnants ever since they had first sailed away.

Satisfied with his answer for the moment, Munakata’s expression softened once more, before he brought the stump to his lips, placing a tender kiss to the area to the oddly textured area. It had healed well, all things considered.

They had lost so much, yet both of them knew that without everything that had occurred on that day, it was unlikely they would ever have come together like this. It was a bittersweet thought, for a bittersweet future.

_End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please imagine Munakata helping Sakakura open jars and do things around the house very dotingly. Sakakura also narrates tv shows for Munakata when his eye gets tired and he needs to close it. He also reads to him sometimes, although they don't share the same taste in books.

**Author's Note:**

> Stayed tuned for a short (surprisingly fluffy) epilogue!


End file.
